


Brand

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Pon Farr, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:25:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a lull in pon farr, Jim lets Spock mark him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plyushka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plyushka/gifts).



> A/N: For plyushka, who asked for Spirk watersports some time ago...
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s slow, coming back to the waking world, after a long, long night of nothing but _sex_ , and _touching_ , and _tasting_ , and so much _Spock_. Jim can still feel all the fingerprints on his skin, feel everywhere a kiss pressed, a nose bumped, teeth scraped. He’s sore in most places, but he expected that. Bones warned him as much. He didn’t listen. 

He enjoyed Spock’s _pon farr_ more than he should have. He knows that. He rolls over in Spock’s arms, half under the blankets and half exposed to the starlight through the un-curtained window. He buries his face in the crook of Spock’s neck. One of Spock’s arms is trapped beneath him, the other over his waist, over the blankets. Spock’s sleeping, or was sleeping, he thinks, and Jim’s going to go back to it. He’s too tired and full of little aches to be conscious after the roller coaster their first night was. 

He doesn’t expect _pon farr_ to be over so easily, so quickly, but he can at least catch some rest while Spock’s taking a break. Never mind that he’s thirsty and sort of has to go to the washroom. He’s too exhausted to move. He yawns and breathes in the musky, raw scent of just _Spock_ , cool with old sweat. 

Spock nuzzles into him, and Jim groans: so much for that. 

All of Spock’s body stretches, his throat making a growling sort of noise, the feral, animal way he was most of last night. His legs shift, intertwined with Jim’s, and his hips roll forward, his semi-hard cock brushing along Jim’s limp one, but Jim’s too tired to get excited again. Too used. He can’t even count how many times they fucked last night, and he’s not sure it stopped when he passed out. Still, he’s always glad to wake up to Spock, and as Spock kisses his jaw, his chin, over to his mouth, Jim murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Spock hisses, voice deep and a little hoarse but _close_. It’s more coherent than he was last night. He seals their lips together, all stale morning breath. Jim lets the kiss linger anyway for a few seconds before he slides his fingers into Spock’s hair. He gently tugs Spock back, encouraged when it doesn’t earn him a growl. 

He searches Spock’s dark eyes, sees some sense of recognition, and he asks softly, “Are you feeling better?”

Spock frowns, like he doesn’t know how to answer that question. On any other day, he might say that it’s a subjective term. Today, he says, “Marginally.” Jim smiles; it’s something. 

Spock rolls his hips again, and as their cocks brush, Jim hisses and mumbles, “Don’t do that. I already have to piss; you’ll make it worse.” 

Spock’s head lifts sharply. His gaze grows very intense, locked on Jim’s eyes. Deliberately, Spock rocks his hips again, and Jim grunts.

“Hey—”

“I want to—” Spock stops talking as soon as he says it. He looks away, but he’s still too close, all over Jim. Jim waits for him to wrestle with himself, that steady sense of control and the chaos of rushing hormones, bottled up for seven years. 

When it seems like he’ll never decide, Jim pets his cheek and soothes, “Don’t worry. You can tell me.” Whatever it is, Jim will understand. Jim will try to oblige. He knew going in that this wouldn’t be easy, that Spock, in parts, wouldn’t seem very Spock-like. Bones told him not to do this, not to get as bruised as he is, but what was he supposed to do? Let his t’hy’la traipse off for a fiancé he never asked for? Jim places a chaste kiss on Spock’s lips, trying to be encouraging. 

Spock surges forward, forcing a tongue between Jim’s lips and nearly choking him with the sudden force. He rolls over onto Jim before there’s any stopping it, and though Jim pushes at his chest, trying to move him, he’s too heavy, too strong. He kisses hard and fierce, and when he pulls back, his hips are rocking again, steady and torturous, cock hard against Jim’s stomach. “Want to mark you,” Spock growls. “Make you mine...”

Gasping, Jim gives up trying to push Spock off and settles for holding on. “You already did that...” He has the teeth marks and the finger-shaped grooves to show it. When he does make it back to the bridge, it’s not going to be hard to tell what he was up to on his leave. Spock runs his teeth along Jim’s neck, clearly not done. 

“That is not what I mean. Want to mark you the Vulcan way, the way of our ancestors, our purest, simplest form, something even the animals can understand...” Animals? Jim’s eyebrows knit together, though Spock can’t see it—he’s busy sucking and nipping at Jim’s throat. Spock’s mouth trails its way back to Jim’s, sealing them together and pulling apart, tugging Jim’s bottom lip between Spock’s teeth. Spock’s hands are all over him, two fingers together in that special way of his. This treatment isn’t at all good for Jim’s bladder. The more Spock moves against him, the more he wants to burst. Spock presses their foreheads together, and their bond seems to spark, the mind meld of yesterday leaving lightning in its wake. “May I...?” The restraint in his voice is palpable. 

Jim would do _anything_ for Spock, deliver the moon, any star, but he still doesn’t know what Spock wants. “What...?”

“I want to piss on you,” Spock growls, suddenly and ferociously, and he grinds his hips in so hard that Jim groans, arching up. Spock bites his cheek and licks over to his ear, nibbling it, hands now running down Jim’s sides, pressing on Jim’s sensitive stomach. “Make you reek of me, make everything know you are _mine_.”

They already know that. The very idea makes Jim shiver, or maybe that’s the way Spock’s rocking into him. He’s starting to get foggy-headed again, but he still knows that’s not... he wouldn’t normally let that... but it’s _Spock_ , and if Spock needs to...

Jim licks his lips, thinking. Spock darts an alien tongue out to lick them after, leaving Jim to tremble and pant. Like this, with Spock’s desire pulsing through him, the feel of Spock still all over his skin, it’s hard to understand why he _knows_ he’d protest any other day. This is only once every seven years, he tells himself. Wouldn’t he give Spock the moon? 

He stuffs down the small part of his brain that protests, and he breathes, “Okay.” Not encouragement but permission. He already promised his body to Spock: whatever Spock needs. Spock looks at him like he’s in danger of being eaten right up. 

Spock slinks off him, slow and slick, like some kind of cat, a wild beast, back up to all fours, then up on his knees. Spock moves to stand, graceful and beautiful, over Jim, one foot to either side of Jim’s hips. He’s pushed the blankets back. He’s got perfect balance. He looks down at Jim, and all Jim can see is his gorgeous face and his pretty cock, long and hard and jutting straight out. He runs a hand down through his own dark curls and slips his fingers around the shaft, holding it still. It pulsates faintly: a Vulcan trait that means it wants Jim. Jim licks his lips; he wants it, too. He’s not sure if he should shut his eyes or not. 

He does scrunch them shut, right when the first bit spurts out, hitting Jim’s chest. He should’ve moved them to the bathroom, but he didn’t think of it, can’t move. He can feel the warm liquid slipping down between his pecs, down over the faint lines of his six-pack, dribbling down to the sheets beneath him. The trail drifts up to his shoulder, and Jim peeks one eye open, staring at the golden stream before him. It smells tart, but better than a human’s, strange and alien, but something he recognizes—perhaps another trait of being Spock’s t’hy’la. Spock moves his cock a bit to the side, letting his piss paint Jim’s collarbone, pull up in the middle and slick around Jim’s throat. Jim arches his neck back, exposing more skin without even thinking. It shouldn’t feel good, should maybe bother him, but somehow, the warmth and the smooth texture is pleasant, the knowledge of what it means making his cock twitch. Spock lets it climb up Jim’s chin, and Jim wants to tell Spock not to go any further, not on his face, but he can’t open his mouth for fear some of the drops will splash into it. He keeps his lips firmly sealed, and he turns both his eyes on Spock, communicating with them. 

The every-going stream subsides, trickling back down, focusing on one nipple, than the other, drenching them, creeping back, until it’s splashing into Jim’s bellybutton, and it starts to recede. It dies out, thinner, thinner, until it’s a series of drips, and Spock strokes his cock and shakes out the rest. 

Jim lies where he is, soaked and smelling and feeling very _owned_ , and yet inexplicably _turned on_.

Spock’s looking down at him, hungrier than ever, breathing hard with dilated, intense eyes. Clearly, he needed that. His eyes slide all over Jim’s body, every little bit that now is inarguably his. He looks back up at Jim’s eyes, and then he falls back to his knees. 

He stays hovered over Jim, not quite touching, not getting in the mess, and he leans down to nuzzle into Jim’s face and growl. 

Jim lifts one hand to pet Spock’s hair. It’s soft but sweat-matted, a mess from last night. When Spock shifts, he can feel the tip of Spock’s dick nudging into his stomach, still hard. Of course. Spock’s been at least half-hard all _pon farr._

Spock licks Jim’s cheek and nearly begs, voice thick and full of lust, “I want to suck you.”

Jim moans immediately, he always likes that. _Loves_ that. Spock’s mouth, anywhere on his body, is so good, but especially there. He wants to nod but can’t. Jim licks his lips again and says, “I... I need to go, too...”

“I know,” Spock hisses, all licks and nips and everything digging into his cheek. “Want to suck you, drink you...”

“Drink my...?” Jim trails off, moaning again—Spock’s closed long, expert fingers around his shaft, squeezing once. He knows he should say ‘no’ right now, but...

“Let me taste you,” Spock insists, so commanding and powerful that Jim forgets he’s a captain, forgets he’s a person, forgets he has any right to do anything but obey this perfect creature. “You are my t’hy’la. Let me drink from you, have your juice in my stomach...” Jim lifts a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle his own groans. He can never let Bones know about this. 

He’s weak. He gets so hot at the idea of Spock drinking his piss, because it is wrong, it is dirty, and all he can do is repeat a weak, “Okay.” Spock bites his ear, _hard_. Another bruise Jim will wear with honour. 

Slithering down Jim’s body, Spock kicks the blankets further down, which is well enough—Jim doesn’t want to stain them. Spock settles between Jim’s legs, and Jim spreads his thighs, feeling cruel already. But Spock asked. Jim doesn’t even know if he can do this. Spock’s palm slides over Jim’s stomach, and Jim gasps, knowing he can. He’s not going to have much choice. 

Then Spock’s lowering down, his tongue out, and it runs up the underside of Jim’s cock—Jim’s hot with delight. Spock laps at it, just like any other time, and closes his mouth over the veiled head, pretty bow lips stretched and kiss-swollen. Jim stares at them, mesmerized. 

Spock sucks once, and Jim doesn’t need to be told. He feels the order through the bond, wordless but important. He lets go. 

He starts pissing, right into Spock’s mouth, onto Spock’s tongue, probably right over it and down Spock’s throat. His head rolls back, and he forces himself to look down instead. A part of him wants to pull out of Spock’s mouth and just piss all over Spock’s face, but the rest of him knows that this is just as sick, just as perfect. He can’t see Spock’s adam’s apple bob, but he hears the sudden gulp and feels the slight change in pressure, knows Spock’s swallowing. Jim keeps going, Spock keeps drinking, starts to suck, swallows him down, drinks it and drinks it, and Jim feels guilt but can’t stop, wouldn’t stop if he could. He seems to go for an inordinate amount of time, pouring right into Spock’s hot mouth. And Spock takes every last drop. 

Spock takes it all and then some. Even as Jim finishes, as it starts to run out, trickle into nothing, Spock’s swallowing, drinking, and Jim’s head falls back into the pillow, hips wanting to buck up. That mouth will be the death of him. He threads his fingers through Spock’s hair: appreciation and encouragement. 

When Spock pulls off, it’s with a wet pop and a series of quick licks around Jim’s cock. Spock nuzzles into his crotch and breathes in, tongues Jim’s inner thigh, kisses Jim’s balls. Jim’s dizzy and in heaven. Spock murmurs into his skin, “You are so good, so good.”

No, Spock is. Jim bites his lip—knows he has to do something. Oh, shower, yes. Wash the sheets. He doesn’t want to move. 

He means to say that they need to shower, but instead, he mumbles, “Love you.” 

Spock hisses, “I love you,” without pause. Spock’s still scattering kisses over the parts of his skin that are still dry. 

But eventually Spock runs out of those, and he pushes back up. He climbs back over Jim, his shadow cast everywhere, right where he belongs. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead into Jim’s, praise and _love_ radiating through their bond. 

Jim wonders vaguely how Spock will feel about this when he’s returned to normal, when he’s returned to himself. He’ll repress, maybe apologize for his ‘undignified’ actions, be cold and distant from everyone but Jim, Jim who always finds a way though his defenses. But they probably won’t do this again, not like this, not for at least another seven years. 

At least Jim will have the memory. And he doesn’t need kinks to enjoy the man he loves. 

He still enjoyed this kink, and he kisses the side of Spock’s mouth while he murmurs, “You really are a devil.”

Spock opens his eyes and lifts one eyebrow. He clearly doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t say anything. He finally pushes back up, and he glances over the side of the bed, slipping back over it. He gets to his feet, and he leans over Jim. 

He scoops Jim up bride-style, an arm under Jim’s knees and one under his back. Jim grunts in surprise, his arms darting to Spock’s neck. Spock hefts him up, steady and secure. 

Spock carries him over to the washroom, while Jim wonders how the hell he ever got so lucky.


End file.
